


The (other) Family Business

by Quicksilver_Rain



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Also an FBI AU, And a Mafia AU, Another Bakery AU, Ashe and Markus are FBI Agents, F/M, Flirting via Coffee Cups, It Works About as Well as You'd Expect, M/M, Nonbinary Zalvetta, Sort Of, Thog's also Mexican/Italian Mixed, Thog's an Army Brat, they're doing their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 06:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17893391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_Rain/pseuds/Quicksilver_Rain
Summary: “Who names their kidThog, anyway?” She flipped through the pages for a moment and then frowned. “I can’t find a mention of any other name in here. How weird is that?”Markus made a face like he was debating taking another drink of the suspect coffee, before rolling his eyes and pushing the mug to the other side of the desk in semi-disgusted defeat. “No onenames their kid Thog, Aesling. It’s probably some dumb nickname someone came up with because his parents named him something stupid.”“Like?”He blinked a bit like an overlarge housecat. “Kelly?”





	The (other) Family Business

**Author's Note:**

> This is another Tumblr Fic and tbh it's basically the Coffee Shop AU of my dreams, so I mostly rewrote it because I deserve nice things. 
> 
> And _that_ means that by extension, y'all _also_ deserve nice things, so here we are.

Ashe did not want to be here.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her job, because she very much _did_. She genuinely _liked_ being an Investigator for the FBI, not that she was able to tell anyone about what she did for a living.

Still, love of the job aside, Ashe did not enjoy being put on undercover duty.

It all started with a manila envelope.

Which was to say that it _actually_ started with Markus, because the manila envelope never did anything to her.

Markus, however, was an entirely different bag of multi-coloured cats.

When she’d finally gotten into work the day before, he’d been sitting in her chair, newspaper in his lap and feet on her desk, laughing quietly in a way that suggested he was probably reading the classifieds, as opposed to any of the news stories about various political goings on. If left to his own devices, he’d probably start reading them out loud, shouting dramatically so that everyone else shambling around the office would have something to pay attention to outside of their burning desire for more caffeine.

He twitched the paper down when she approached, and Ashe breathed a quiet sigh of relief that he was refraining from his usual chicanery. He smiled widely at her, not bothering to remove his feet from her desktop in deference to her appearance, because he was also an _asshole_.

Ashe sighed, pushing his boots off her desk as she passed, unsurprised by his migration from his own cube. He seemed not to be able to exist without a low level of clutter surrounding him at all times, which was fine until he decided to _spread_ it like some kind of fungus, only with pens and trinkets and paperclips instead of spores.

Markus’s shoes hit the floor with a loud _thud_ that he didn’t even bother to quiet, and he sat upright, folding the paper back up so that it was manageable. “Hello Aesling. You’re looking lovely as always this morning.”

She rolled her eyes, pulling off her hat and coat, ignoring the compliment altogether, because that was _Markus_ , all the way. He’d been greeting her with every compliment he could think of, and several he might have crowdsourced, since they were first assigned to be each other’s partners a couple years before.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, because even though Markus was a damned good liar, he'd never lied to _her_. It was just that compliments tended to rub her the wrong way, and Markus was _full_ of them.

“ _Morning_ Markus,” she huffed, unwinding her scarf from around her neck. And then, because he was looking at her expectantly, “how can you tell?” She lifted a gloved hand in illustration before tugging it off and tossing her hat and gloves in his general direction to be put on top of Ashe's filing cabinet for safe keeping. 

Ashe turned to hang up her coat and scarf on the corner of the cube wall that separated her and Markus from Colvin and Inien.

Markus, for his part, folded his arms and leaned against the desk, chair squeaking as he shifted. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you. Horovan’s weird secretary guy just dropped this off for us.” He smiled toothily at her, gesturing at Ashe’s desk and the manila envelope sitting more or less innocently on its surface. Ashe felt a flash of something she might call fear, if pressed, when he scooped it up and offered it to her, sing-songing a delighted, “~ _you’re not gonna like it_ ~,” in her general direction.

Ashe grabbed the envelope, shooting a look that was part fond, part glare at him, before opening the file, skimming its contents, and heaving a heavy sigh when she reached the end. When she finally looked up, Markus was still grinning at her, and Ashe lifted her eyebrows. 

“Undercover Work?”

Markus put his chin in his hand, studying her absently, and Ashe thought that he was able to read her better than everyone she’d ever dated put together.

Finally, he spoke, though mostly it seemed to be so that he could scold her.

“Don’t be _sulky_ Aesling,” he clicked his tongue and gestured in the general direction of their boss’s office. “Sure, it isn’t your cup of _tea_ ,” he laughed when Ashe snorted, smacking him on the shoulder with the contents of the file in retaliation for making puns in her general vicinity, “but look on the bright side, Horovan just gave us a _coffee budget_ for the foreseeable future!” He smiled at her again, like this was perhaps the best thing that had ever happened to him. “Listen, listen, we’re basically being _paid_ to take a couple hours off from…” he paused, gesturing grandly at the room at large, and Donata snorted from her spot, two cubicles away. Markus stuck his tongue out at her and finished his sentence with a little less flourish, now that the mood had been ruined, “this.”

Ashe sat at the corner of her desk, accepting the fact that Markus likely would not be abandoning her chair anytime soon. “You _love_ this job.”

“Well, _yeah_.” Markus said, sounding a little like a six-year-old trying to make a point. “But this job also wants me to be able to function on two hours of sleep.” He trailed off there and scooped up a mug that was sitting near the edge of the desk, holding it up for her inspection. “So: coffee.” He took a drink from the mug before Ashe could suggest otherwise, swallowed, and then made a face that suggested that it might have been from the night before.

She wrinkled her nose, patting his shoulder in sympathy before going back to the file in her hands. “Who names their kid _Thog_ , anyway?” She flipped through the pages for a moment and then frowned. “I can’t find a mention of any other name in here. How weird is that?”

Markus made a face like he was debating taking another drink of the suspect coffee, before rolling his eyes and pushing the mug to the other side of the desk in semi-disgusted defeat. “ _No one_ names their kid _Thog_ , Aesling. It’s probably some dumb nickname someone came up with because his parents named him something stupid.”

“Like?”

He blinked a bit like an overlarge housecat. “Kelly?”

Ashe took another look at the pictures clipped to the file:

The topmost one was a mugshot from a police report nearly ten years earlier, because apparently, this _Thog_ had gotten into more than a couple drunken fist fights in college.

Strangely, the man in the photo didn’t look particularly inebriated, just vaguely grumpy, if the scowl was anything to go by. His hair was short, dark, tufty and in a state of disarray, and Ashe wondered if someone had grabbed onto it at some point during the scuffle. His nose was bleeding, or more likely, had just stopped bleeding, but even so, he was staring blankly at the camera like there were any number of things he’d prefer to be doing instead of being booked for fist fighting some frat boy on campus.

Ashe squinted at the picture, nodding decisively. “Yeah, he looks like a Kelly.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” Markus agreed, smiling again, like it amused him. “Apparently he got in a few fights near whatever university campus they got in Phoenix. No one ever pressed charges and he pretty much claimed self-defense, so.” He shrugged as if to say, ‘ _what can you do?_ '

“Yes, well.” Ashe flipped through the rest of the papers again, glancing through several more photos that told her precisely nothing, except that Thog seemed to be incapable of smiling. “What does some former thug opening a _bakery_ , of all things, have to do with _us?_ ”

Markus lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t you read the file?” At Ashe’s glare, he held up his hands in surrender, looking away as if that would soothe her ire. “We can trace most of his father’s family to the Santiago Branch of the local Mob.”

Ashe shifted, crossing her legs and wondering if Colvin was going to bound in any time soon. He could usually be trusted to bring coffee for her and Markus, as well as himself and Inien. She braced a hand on her desk, leaning to regard Markus suspiciously. “It says here that his father’s estranged from the family, Markus.” She shook the file at him. “There’s a whole page and a half about how he joined the military at seventeen and hasn’t had any contact with them since? They haven’t even been back on the Eastern Seaboard until now. Or did you miss all that?”

Markus snorted, leaning back in the chair again, making it squeal worryingly. “Yeah, _okay_. Just ‘cuz the guy doesn’t want anything to do with his family doesn’t mean that Uncle Ricky didn’t sweet-talk the kid into joining the Family Business.” He said the last bit with a terribly fake Italian accent, and grinned when Ashe rolled her eyes.

From across the room Donata snorted again and said something that was probably insulting in Markus’s general direction, as if to remind him that _she_ was Italian, too and that if he kept it up, she’d stop bringing him leftovers whenever she made lasagna.

“Sorry Dont, my bad I love and respect you and your cooking.”

Donata made an exasperated sound, but went back to her work, giving Markus implicit permission to continue trying to make his point. “Be _sides_ , how many people have _you_ seen start up a small business, only to have it _explode_ overnight, hmm? From what _I_ hear, the place went from some dinky little bakery to having like, every political admin and G-Man in the Capitol stopping by from one day to the next.”

He lifted his eyebrows like he was expecting a rebuttal and Ashe sighed. “And? Maybe they just have really good, uh…” She snapped her fingers for a moment, trying to find the word she was looking for. “What are those little biscuit things you like?”

“Scones?” Markus asked hesitantly, looking thoughtful when Ashe nodded. He pondered this for a moment, before shaking his head violently, blond hair whipping around his face. “No, wait, that’s beside the point, Aesling. If he’s not laundering money, he’s selling information and it’s _our_ job as the G-People to stop him.”

Ashe turned to give Markus her most deadpan look. “And Horovan wants _us_ ,” she gestured at herself, and then Markus, as if to illustrate. “To see if this _anonymous tip_ pans out.”

Markus kicked his feet back onto Ashe’s desk, gesturing in a way that could have meant any number of things. “That’s why he’s got the corner office, isn’t it?”

They both paused there, looking back up in the direction of Horovan’s office, half expecting their boss to appear as if heralded by their conversation, demanding that they get their asses into his office for one reason or another.

When he didn’t appear, Markus leaned back more comfortably in Ashe’s chair again, clasping his hands behind his head and perking an eyebrow at her. “So, you gonna pick up some coffee for us tomorrow?”

##

Ashe was shaken out of her head by the sound of her cellphone chiming out some unfamiliar tune, because Markus had once again gotten ahold of her phone and thought it would be funny to change all her settings. She fumbled the device out of her pocket, cursing Markus for being so… _Markus_ , while she tugged at her glove with her teeth, risking frostbite so that she’d be able to use her touchscreen.

The message that greeted her when she finally managed to wrestle her phone from her pocket read:

* _See if they have any scones! <3_

Ashe rolled her eyes, thinking that maybe he could stop signing his texts with heart emojis after two years of being acquainted, but he’d been doing that, too, since they were first assigned to be each other’s partners. He seemed to think the fact that she lived alone with her cat was positively _depressing_ , especially after she accidentally let it slip that her parents were dead, or as good as dead, at some point after a few too many beers.

Part of her thought it was endearing, really, even though that didn’t really make up for the fact that the larger part of her worried that it was going to get one or both of them in trouble at some point.

Her phone pinged again, and another message joined the first:

* _And a caramel mocha macchiato <3_

She shook her head at the text, making a mental note to get Markus his fussy drink before she left, lest he act like she’d kicked his dog for the rest of the day.

For now, though, Ashe had work to do.

The shop, which was named Three Teaspoons was already open, and seemed like perhaps it had been for a long time, despite the fact that it was only just nearing eight o’clock. Nevertheless, Ashe pulled open the front door, squinting as a warm blast of air washed over her. A bell rang, from somewhere as she stepped inside, and Ashe looked around the bakery-stroke-coffee shop warily.

It didn’t _look_ like a front for the mob, not really.

Actually, it looked positively _homey_.

The walls were warm and jewel toned and looked sort of elegant with the dark-stained floors and darker trim. Retro style light-bulbs hung on wires from the ceiling, casting light over several hand lettered signs that looked like they might be the menu suspended over dark granite counter-tops and a glass and dark-stained wood bakery case sitting near the front, already filled with a number of cookies and cupcakes and various other pastries. The wall behind the front counter was covered in machines that Ashe assumed were there for coffee purposes, broken up only by a door that presumably led back to the kitchen.

The owner… Thog?

Kelly?

Whatever his name was, didn’t seem to be out front or with any of the customers that sitting at any of the sturdy wooden tables, which wasn’t suspicious so much as it was unexpected for someone allegedly laundering money or information or whatever it was they were convinced he was doing.

Instead, Ashe was greeted by a young man with long brown hair that was smiling _far_ too brightly for the early hour. He waved excitedly as she closed the door behind her, as if he was worried she wouldn’t see him otherwise.

“Good morning!"

Ashe huffed and pulled her scarf down from her face trying for polite even though she couldn’t feel the fingers of her right hand and actually would have much preferred to be in bed or at the office or… anywhere else, really. “Morning.”

The man, or kid, really, didn’t seem altogether too bothered by Ashe’s lack of enthusiasm for the early morning and bounced slightly on his feet as she approached, reaching around to tie his apron so that the bow was in the front. It wasn’t the usual white apron that Ashe had seen while patroning other bakeries in the area, this one had little pigs with bat-wings printed on it, and Ashe couldn’t help but think that he was horribly cute.

He finished with his apron and tapped at the register’s keys like he was trying to wake it up, before directing another blinding smile at her. “What can I get you?”

Ashe eyed him, perhaps a little suspiciously for a moment, trying to figure out if he was just bubbly in general, or if he had ulterior motives, before finishing her journey to the counter. “Uh… a black coffee and, uh…” she chewed on her lip for a moment, a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choice available in the pastry container.

Still, if she was going to sit here for three hours, she wasn’t going to do it on an empty stomach.

“The caramel apple coffee cake’s real good,” he offered, perhaps noticing her dilemma as he scribbled something on a pad of paper.

She forced a smile. “Yeah, that’ll be good, then. Thanks-” she looked at the nametag pinned to the boy’s apron, “-Gregor.” Ashe reached into her slacks for her wallet, hoping absently that this place was cheaper than Starbucks, regardless of Horovan’s promised reimbursements.

Gregor seemed pleased that she’d used his name and beamed another thousand watt smile at her. “Yes ma’am. Are you gonna stick around for a bit?" When Ashe nodded, he waved her toward one of the tables, turning a little to shout over his shoulder. “ _Kier!_ I need a black coffee,” he paused, glanced over at Ashe in a way that made her think he was looking for something in specific, and then continued, “the Sumatra Gayo, I think.”

A couple seconds of silence followed the declaration, before an exceedingly tall, broad-shouldered, red-haired man burst through the door like he was being chased by an angry mob. The sudden flurry of activity startled Ashe as she moved toward a table near the back of the seating area, though the other patrons sitting at the tables didn’t seem perturbed by the man’s entrance.

He gestured enthusiastically at the closing door with one hand, pulling the top of an apron printed with small robots over his head with the other. “-Already _said_ I was _sorry!_ _And_ I _fixed_ it! Aww-” he twisted awkwardly, trying to untangle himself from his apron strings, visibly giving up when Gregor moved over to help him. The man turned away from the door and dropped his voice, even though that didn’t seem to do much as far as volume went. “How was _I_ supposed to know his fancy mixer wasn’t supposed to go in the sink? It was _dirty!_ I was trying to _help!_ ”

Gregor reached around the man, who Ashe assumed was Kier, and tied his apron for him. “Maybe you should ask next time?” It wasn’t condescending, even though Ashe rather thought that not putting electrical appliances in the sink was common sense.

She took a seat at a table near the back corner, facing the rest of the café so that she could see the exits and windows and other patrons. It soothed her nerves a little, though it didn’t change the fact that she didn’t really want to waste time sitting around when she could be working.

Still, it was nice enough, between the sturdy tables and warm lights and bakery smells. There was music playing quietly from a speaker hidden somewhere nearby, and Ashe settled down in the fairly comfortable chair she’d chosen, pulling out her phone to try and catch up on the news, though she’d probably give up and play games within a couple minutes.

Gregor approached after a few minutes, in which Ashe tried and failed to do anything productive and had decided instead to busy herself with filling in a crossword puzzle someone had abandoned on the table next to her. He set an overlarge mug of coffee down by her elbow, followed by a too-delicate looking plate with a square of coffee cake on it, calling a cheery, ‘ _enjoy!_ ’’ to her as he turned to take up his previous post behind the front counter. 

Ashe spent the next couple hours alternately watching the café and filling in her crossword, and generally noticed several things about the way things were run at Three Teaspoons:

For the most part, Gregor was the only person that ran the counter, though Kier took over for minutes at a time if Gregor was in the back.

Kier would tinker with the coffee machines if he wasn’t in the back and seemed to be the only one that actually knew how to use them, since Gregor generally went to fetch him if he was in the back and someone had ordered coffee, rather than make it himself.

They had a semi-decent tea selection and Gregor seemed more than willing to make tea orders if Kier was indisposed elsewhere.

Sometimes, Kier would bring trays of baked goods from the back, but Gregor was the one that put them in the pastry cases, even if that meant that Kier had to wait for him to finish up with a customer.

Gregor seemed to have a knack for recognizing faces, because he chatted with customers as they approached the counter, occasionally calling them by name and asking them about their kids or wives or pets.

Kier was loud, by nature, it seemed, and for the most part, people seemed to find it endearing, asking him about the coffee makers like they were children or particularly blocky pets. Occasionally, though, Kier seemed to quiet down out of something that liked like thinly veiled anxiety whenever certain people entered the establishment, and Ashe couldn't even begin to fathom why. 

She also noticed that Thog or Kelly or whatever the hell his name actually was, hadn’t come out to the front of the café, and Ashe was beginning to wonder if he was even _there_.

Political Admins and other government workers began streaming through the front door about an hour after Ashe got there, mixed in with regular civilians and Ashe rather thought that it was a sort of perfect storm of chaos and comfortable atmosphere, where people could chat comfortably with each other, where if someone was _really_ listening, they might be able to find out something important. There was certainly no shortage of people coming and going, and she thought that Horovan might have hit the nail directly on the head when he suggested that an enterprising mob member might be using the place to launder money or sell information.

It was another hour before Ashe actually caught sight of the man that supposedly owned the place.

Kier had gone back into the kitchen for something, baked goods, Ashe supposed, and the door had barely shut before a very loud, only vaguely expensive sounding crash interrupted the general atmosphere, making Ashe, Gregor, and the two or three other patrons in the café jump violently in response. The door swung open again and Kier came barreling out again, shouting something about not wanting to die because he had things to do and something about computers.

Ashe didn’t hear much else, because they were shortly joined by another person, who pushed through the kitchen doors, looking _spectacularly_ pissed and, ah, yes, _there_ he was.

It took a handful of seconds for Ashe to recognize him as Thog, because even though he had the sort of face that stuck, in a manner of speaking, he didn’t quite look like the same grumpy bastard showcased in all the file photos.

Well, no, she amended:

He _did_ look grumpy. Actually, he looked downright _pissed_ , but more than that, he looked older than he had in the mugshots. And obviously, time passed, and tastes changed, but it seemed to be something more than just that.

Still, he _did_ look different. His hair was longer and slicked back from his face, and he was probably breaking some kind of food code, because Ashe couldn’t see a hairnet from where she was sitting. He’d filled out in the time between being arrested at twenty and actually looked like he might _win_ if he got into a fight _now_. And he even though he may be some kind of badass now, ten years down the road, Ashe noticed, much to her own private amusement, that the man Kier was currently using Gregor to shield himself from had freckles.

_Freckles._

If Markus were there, he would have dissolved into a laughing fit as soon as he laid eyes on Thog. He’d maintained, for as long as Ashe had known him, at least, that the only people that had any business having freckles were boy-next-door types, and redheads and definitely _not_ grumpy bastards with arrest records.

Behind the counter, Thog put his hands on his hips, glaring up at Kier, who towered over both him _and_ Gregor by nearly half a foot. Ashe hadn’t expected him to be wearing a whimsical apron like his employees, but his apron was, in fact, covered in small red and grey foxes and it clashed rather nicely with the general aura of menace he was projecting and business casual dress.

Ashe wondered if he was wearing the suit vest because it was a personal preference, or because he was going to go to some shady meeting after the bakery closed, and then busied herself with trying to figure out how he’d managed to stay more or less clean, apron notwithstanding.

Every time _Ashe_ had tried her hand at baking, everything within a five-foot radius tended to end up covered in flour, including her.

Eventually, after another handful of seconds, Ashe’s musing was interrupted by the sound of Thog finally talking:

He wasn’t yelling, by any means, but his voice carried easily through the café and over the music playing over the speakers. The other patrons, for their part, seemed just as interested in the goings on as Ashe herself was, and were obligingly silent as the events unfolded.

“Look, Kier,” there was a pause and Thog sighed, sounding long-suffering. “I know that coffee machines are easier than people for you, but when I ask you to do something, or more importantly, _not_ do something: do you think you could fucking _listen to me?_ ”

Kier nodded so fast that Ashe thought he was going to give himself whiplash and made an expression that reminded her of a kicked puppy. “I’m so _rry!_ I didn’t mean to, you- you just looked like you could use some help and- and,” he stopped there for a second, and Ashe was a little worried he was going to burst into tears. “I’m sorry I’m so big and clumsy and _stupid_.”

The last part came out in a rush at Thog, who crossed his arms, regarding Kier in silence for so long that even Gregor’s smile was beginning to falter a little.

Finally, he sighed, snapping out an irritated sounding, “don’t apologize for shit you can’t control.” Kier nodded at this, still looking a little terrified and maybe like he still wanted to cry and Thog continued scowling. “And for _fuck’s sake_ , you’re not stupid. Sometimes you do _exceedingly_ stupid shit, but that doesn’t make _you_ stupid.”

Kier nodded again and started rambling quietly about doing better and looking a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, even though Thog had already pulled his attention away from his employee to look around the café. Most of the patrons had already gone back to what they were doing before Kier’s entrance, but Ashe was still watching mildly, and Thog cocked his head to the side when he noticed her.

He looked away again, directing his attention back toward Kier, who looked less like he was on the verge of a panic and jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Go back in there and clean up the mess you made.” He sounded less angry, now, though she could still hear him clearly even though the background chatter of the other patrons had picked back up again. “Gregor’ll call if he needs you.”

Kier didn’t answer except to push past Gregor again, making his escape back into the kitchen.

The door swung shut as Thog called an irritated, “ _I want it_ spotless _in there, you hear me?_ ” through the door, which was answered with several sounds of affirmation at various volumes.

Apparently satisfied by Kier’s answer, Thog stepped closer to Gregor, dropping his voice so that Ashe could no longer hear him, though, whatever he said, it made Gregor smile widely, nodding enthusiastically in agreement.

Thog hung around for another moment, stopping to speak to a customer that had walked up to the counter, and Ashe wondered if it was so that he wouldn’t stress Kier out with his presence. Eventually, he returned to the kitchen, though, and Ashe went back to her crossword.

##

It was another half hour before Ashe decided to take her leave. She’d finished her crossword and honestly, she didn’t really have much else to do. Besides, she’d much rather bury herself in paperwork and listen to Markus chatter on about his current crush on one of the cute guys in accounting or whatever than sit here bored out of her mind.

That decided, Ashe stood, collecting her mug and plate and makde her way to the counter again, with the intention of ordering Markus his fussy drink so that she didn’t spend the rest of the day enduring heavy sighs and betrayed looks. 

“Oh, hello again!” Gregor bounced a little as he said it, looking like he expected her to say something else, but was unwilling to prompt her.

Ashe waved vaguely in response, pulling out her phone to check Markus’s message again. “Uh can I get a chocolate caramel macchiato and one of those scones, to go. Please.”

He nodded enthusiastically, and Ashe wondered if he did everything like that as he typed in her order. “It’s gonna be thirteen even with your order from this morning.” He smiled at her again, gesturing for her to wait by the far counter, before turning to speak with Kier, who had slunk out of the kitchen about fifteen minutes before, still looking a little upset, but leagues calmer than he had been before.

Ashe pulled out a ten and some ones Markus had paid her back for lunch with, passing the thirteen dollars to Gregor and motioning for him to keep the rest, before wandering off to the far end of the counter to watch Kier fiddle with the machines.

The shop was more or less empty now, though Ashe surmised that business would pick up in the next hour or so, when it was time for lunch, and it was only a handful of minutes before Kier set a pair of large, paper cups with thick cardboard sleeves that were stamped to indicate the name of the bakery on the granite countertop, followed by a small craft paper bag with similar markings. He looked around the café, hummingbird fast, and blinked at Ashe when he noticed her, wrinkling his nose a little and furrowing his eyebrows like he’d just remembered something important and then forgot about it again.

Eventually, Kier shook his head, maybe a little violently, and pushed the order closer to her. “This is yours.” His voice was still loud, and Ashe was beginning to think that perhaps that was just his default volume.

Ashe frowned and he frowned back, though he looked a little more politely confused about it. “I only ordered one drink.”

Kier blinked, looked over his shoulder at Gregor, who shrugged, and then shook his head. “My bad sorry. You can have it anyways. On the house.”

For a moment, Ashe debated whether or not this was an exceedingly involved attempted murder, before discarding the idea with a shake of her head. “Thank you Kier.”

He smiled at her, just as brightly as Gregor did, pushing the cups closer to her again, like some kind of overlarge cat playing chicken with fine china, and Ashe took a moment to shove the scone in her pocket before scooping up the cups.

“That one’s the macchiato.” Kier pointed at the cup in her left hand, leaning precariously over the high counter. “The other one’s a dirty chai latte.”

Ashe shrugged, took a sip of the aforementioned latte, waved at Gregor and Kier, and made her way to the office.

She didn’t notice the writing on the cup until she was in the elevator, and by then, she rather thought it was a little too late.

Ashe barely made it to her desk, where Markus was inevitably sitting, this time, working his way through a stack of reports he’d fallen behind on. He looked up when Ashe set her half-empty cup on the desk a little harder than entirely necessary. “Look at this.” She gestured at it, torn between offense, vague amusement, and paranoia.

Markus looked up from his paperwork, propping his glasses on top of his head before obeying Ashe’s order, because he _knew_ her, better than most people did, and probably heard the anxiety colouring her voice. He squinted at the writing for a moment, dropped his glasses back over his eyes and then looked up at her. “Good luck?”

Ashe nodded, eyeing the cup between them like it might explode or bite, because she recognized the handwriting, as skewed as it might be from writing on an uneven surface. Gregor seemed to write in a sort of slap-dash half-cursive, half-shorthand that only he seemed to be able to read with any regularity, based off how often Kier had to ask what the tickets said. She’d watched Kier write the names of the coffee blends they’d used on a little chalkboard that was later set up on the counter beside Gregor in even, precise uppercase letters.

This was neither of those, and in fact, the only reason Ashe recognized the sharp, angular writing was because it was the same handwriting on the menus hanging above the counter.

“I think he knows,” she said, pressing her knuckles to her temple to stave off a massive headache, “he knows and he’s just fucking with us.”

Markus made a face at her, the one she recognized as being his, ‘ _it’s not as bad as it looks_ ,’ face, which usually led to her getting pulled into various half-baked schemes that mostly turned out well in the end but generally threatened to fail massively at every point along the way. “Well, yeah.”

Ashe lifted her eyebrows at him, unamused.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Aesling,” he said, resting his chin in his hand, “you look like a cop.”

Inien chose that moment to appear, carrying a stack of papers to god knew where from the copier. “And not even a particularly intelligent one, either,” she chirped breezily, and Ashe wondered, not for the first time, how Colvin hadn’t ‘ _accidentally_ ’ shot her yet.

It couldn’t be that he liked her _personality_.

Ashe rolled her eyes when Inien smiled at her like some kind of shark and turned back to Markus. “I do _not._ ”

Thankfully, Inien had already moved onto other things, which probably involved terrorizing small children, or at least various admins, which meant that Ashe would be able to stave off her headache for at least the next ten minutes.

“Yeah ya do,” Markus argued, holding out his hand for his drink. He smiled when she obliged, however grumpily, and took a tentative sip. “The only way you’d look _more_ like a cop is if you went in there flashing your badge.” He lifted a shoulder, taking another drink now that he’d made sure he wasn’t going to burn himself. “Wear your civvies tomorrow and say you were going to a business meeting or something.” He looked pointedly at her and made a grabby hand gesture. “Scone.”

Ashe pulled the pastry out of her pocket and resisted the urge to throw it on the table between them, resolving to tell Horovan about it in her report for the day. “ _Fine. Whatever you say,_ Markus.”

##

It was nearing six thirty when Markus practically sprinted into the office, carrying another pair of cups from Three Teaspoons and looking like he was about to have a panic attack. Ashe looked up from her report just as he slid to a halt in front of her desk like he was on wheels.

He set the cups on top of her bulky computer monitor with a deceptive amount of care, considering that he slammed his hands down on her desk immediately after making sure they weren’t in danger of falling, leaning forward until they were practically nose to nose. “Oh my _god, Ashe, why didn’t you tell me the barista was cute._ ”

Ashe blinked, mostly because Markus had actually called her by something other than her full name, and then lifted her eyebrows. “Which one?”

Markus rolled his eyes at her and looked even more cagey than he had previously.

“Right,” Ashe sighed. “The loud one with the freckles.” She paused to grab one of the cups sitting on her monitor, popping off the lid to look inside before setting it aside for the other. “You really do have a crippling weakness for redheads, don’t you? I thought you were joking about that.”

Markus squinted, watching her take a tentative drink from the second cup. “That, _Aesling_ , is beside the point.” And then, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Ashe didn’t really know how to answer that, other than with a warning not to flirt too much with the aforementioned barista while they were investigating his boss for money laundering reasons. She took another drink from her coffee to give her a moment, and then lifted her shoulders. “Surprise?”

##

Needless to say, when Ashe went to Three Teaspoons the next morning, she was wearing her baggiest pair of jeans and her favourite shirt, which didn’t do much for her as far as being warm went, but that was what the flannel and leather jacket and scarf and hat were for, so she didn’t really think it mattered very much.

Gregor grinned at her when the line in front of her dispersed and Ashe was finally able to approach the counter. He was, once again, wearing the apron with the weird little pig-bats on it, still looking entirely too bubbly for the early hour.  He waved at Ashe, despite the fact that she was less than two feet away, like he was worried she wouldn’t see him, somehow, still, again. “Good morning! How’d your interview go?”

Ashe blinked, her own excuse for the day before dying in her throat under a wave of confusion. “What?”

“Oh,” Gregor’s smile faltered a little, and Ashe actually felt a little guilty about it. “Um, I’m sorry. It’s just that Thog said you looked like you were on your way to an interview yesterday. That’s why he had me give you a free drink when you left.”

Ashe wasn’t exactly sure what she’d been expecting, but it surely wasn’t that.

Still, it would be stupid not to roll with such a neat, built in cover, and she nodded, offering up a nervous sort of smile that tended to get people to underestimate her. “No, uh, it’s alright. I just didn’t think anyone noticed.” She paused, mentally rifling through excuses as to why she was here today instead of doing whatever it was people looking for jobs did. “They, uh, said I start next week. They’ve got paperwork or something.”

“Oh!” Gregor clapped his hands and bounced again, looking genuinely excited for her. “That’s great! Congratulations!” Then, he seemed to realize that they were customer and barista, rather than friends. “Oh, what can I get for you, sorry. 

Ashe lifted her shoulder. “Uh, the same as yesterday, I guess.”

She eyed the pastry case and noticed that it was emptier than it had been the day before, despite the fact that they’d only been open for a couple hours.

“The black coffee, or dirty chai?” Gregor asked, and Ashe was surprised he’d remembered, what with all the people he saw on a daily basis. “Or the chocolate caramel macchiato?” He tilted his head one way and then the other like he was turning over a particularly difficult math problem. “I could have Kier make all three, I guess, but they’d probably be cold by the time you got to them and Kier says it’s gonna snow later today, so they probably wouldn’t warm you up much…”

Ashe stared, waiting to see if Gregor was going to stop to breathe anytime soon, and when he didn’t, she leaned into his line of sight, waving to get his attention. “The black coffee’s fine, Gregor.”

“Oh, okay!” He scribbled on his trusty pad of paper. “Lemme go get Kier.”

“Why?”

She hadn’t actually meant to ask that out loud, but now that she had, she might as well get an answer. It wasn’t like there was a line out the door or anything.

Gregor’s smile disappeared entirely for a second, coming back full force before Ashe could even register its absence. “Oh, the day after we opened, I burned myself real bad on the steamer, so Thog said I’m not allowed to use the coffee machines anymore, and the day after _that_ one of the Capitol Hill Admin guys threatened to get Kier fired because-” a number of complicated expressions flitted across Gregor’s face before settling on something that looked like disbelief and he rolled his eyes, surprising Ashe a little. “Because he yells too much or whatever, it was stupid, but Thog has Kier working in the back and making coffee now, so it’s alright, I guess. Kier doesn’t mean to shout, its just that his other jobs aren’t customer facing and he forgets.”

Ashe nodded sagely, watching as Gregor leaned comfortably on the counter. “What’re his other jobs.”

“He used to be a mechanic at Ballast’s place, on 16th and Colorado, but he didn’t like it very much because Ballast’s kind of…” Gregor frowned again, and this time it stuck. “No one like’s Ballast much.” He brightened as soon as he'd said it, as if he was incapable of doing anything else, and Ashe thought she was going to get mental whiplash if he kept that up. “Now he works with Thog’s friend Moran, updating computer servers when he’s not here.”

Ashe nodded, because she’d been to Ballast’s Mechanic Shop once, a couple months before, when Markus’s Mini blew a gasket and needed to be fixed. She didn’t remember much about the visit, other than a near overwhelming sense of unease the entire time she’d been in the company of the owner of said shop. Ashe had met and spoken at length with _serial killers_ before, and she’d never been more perturbed in her _life_ than she’d been after spending five minutes in close proximity with Ballast McGee.

And, actually, that might be possible issue later on, but Ashe didn’t remember seeing Kier at Ballast’s Shop, and there was always a chance that Kier himself hadn’t actually seen her and Markus, either.

And if he had, well, she could always lie, as long as Markus backed her up, it wouldn’t be an issue.

Probably.

“Sometimes people come in with car troubles,” Gregor added thoughtfully, seemingly out of nowhere, breaking Ashe out of her thoughts. “So Thog’ll tell him to take the rest of the day to see if he can fix it. He’s really good at fixing things.”

Kier popped out of the kitchen, as if summoned by the sentiment, glancing at the slip of paper Gregor handed him. “Does this say to use the Haitian Bleu?”

At Gregor’s nod, Kier moved along to the row of machines, grabbing a bag of beans, seemingly at random as he went, leaving Ashe to wander back to her table.

This time, at least, she’d brought a book to read while she was stuck here. She sat down a little heavily, pressing her knuckles to her temple again, wondering if perhaps Horovan had been wrong in his assumption that Three Teaspoons was a front for the mafia. Gregor gave up information _much_ too easily for someone supposedly running a huge scam.

It certainly seemed like a lot of lies to keep track of, unless he was actually telling the truth, but then, what was the point of that?

She supposed, if there really was something nefarious going on, that one could do worse than putting a talkative kid with a good memory at the front counter.

Ashe’s pondering was interrupted before she could come to any kind of conclusion, by Kier’s appearance beside her, holding her cup of coffee and a cookie she hadn’t ordered. 

He set the drink down carefully before straightening to his full height, and then slouching a little, like he didn’t want to loom over her. He fidgeted a little and, yeah, Ashe could see why Markus was already gone on the guy.

She smiled up at him, hoping that would break the tension building between them. “Morning Kier.”

“Um, yeah, hi.” Despite the nerves he seemed to be battling, his voice was still loud in the café, and Ashe mentally put another tick in the 'loud by nature' column tally she'd been keeping.

When he didn’t move to leave, she tried again. “How’re you doing today?”

“I’m good.” He shifted almost uncomfortably, still holding the plate with the cookie. “I remember you. Um, from a few months ago? You and your friend dropped off a blue Mini Coupe?”

Ashe took a drink from her mug to keep from saying something stupid and making a mess of things, burning her tongue a little in the process. Apparently, Kier remembered her and Markus just _fine_ , which was, alright, not really the best thing to happen, but as long as they kept their stories straight, they’d be alright.

“Oh, yeah. He drives like a maniac.” She shook the memory of her last car trip with Markus out of her head so that she wouldn’t get retroactively carsick. “Poor Inky never stood a chance.”

Kier laughed like a gunshot and it scared a nearby couple badly enough that one of them almost spilled their coffee down their front. “I _knew_ it! Inky, huh?” He leaned forward a little in excitement and Ashe couldn’t help but smile up at him. “Like the Pac-Man ghost?”

Ashe nodded somberly. “Yeah, he names every vehicle he rides in.

In fact, even though Ashe took the Metro most places, she had a little red Vespa that Markus had named Imp, and the car they took out on assignment had been dubbed Midnight shortly after it had come into their possession.

Kier nodded in agreement and pointed out toward the front of the building with his free hand. “Gregor named Thog’s car La Muerte after we started carpooling together.” He dropped his hand and tapped his fingers on the table for a moment like he was debating what to say next. “Your friend came in last night, he stayed for a little bit. I’m sorry you lost your job.”

Oh, of _course_.

Ashe was going to strangle Markus when she got back.

And then she was going to drag him into an interview room by his hair so that no one would have to listen to her scream at him about making shit up for her cover and leaving her in the dark about it.

For now, Ashe lifted her shoulders, pulling in a shaky sigh. “It’s alright. I didn’t really like working there anyway… This new place is better for me.”

He boomed out another laugh and Ashe fought the instinct to duck. “Yeah, I know the feeling. It’s gonna work out, though.”

She smiled up at him again, because sure, Kier was a little loud, and apparently more than a little clumsy, but he meant well, and Ashe was about to agree with him when Thog shouldered through the kitchen door, drawing her attention. He looked just about as vaguely irritated as he had the day before, and looked around the café for a moment, before zeroing in on Kier.

“ _There_ you are.”

He didn’t sound angry, but his voice still carried effortlessly in a way that had nothing to do with volume, and Kier straightened, whipping around to face his boss. “I- I’m sorry, I just wanted to say hi, because I recognized her from Ballast’s Shop and her friend from last night said she lost her job and I just wanted to… um… to make sure she was… Um… doing okay… ‘cuz… yanno…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Ashe like she had something to add.

Thog stared pointedly for a moment, arms crossed. “Yeah, that’s nice and all, but the morning rush from Crystal City’s about to start and I need you to help me move our piece of shit oven for the delivery fuckers.”

“I thought they were supposed to deliver the new oven yesterday?” Gregor asked politely, pausing partway through making a cup of tea and looking a little confused.

Thog looked over his shoulder at him, frowning. “Does it look like we have a new fucking oven, Gregor.” It wasn’t a question, Ashe didn’t think, but Gregor shook his head anyways.

“I guess that’s why you brought in all those cookies, huh?” Gregor asked, sounding serene. He finished with his tea and offered the mug to Thog, who eyed it suspiciously. “It’s milk oolong.”

For a moment, Ashe thought Thog was going to tell Gregor to go fuck himself, but eventually he sighed, taking the mug from the boy like it was some kind of burden. Then, he directed his attention back toward Kier again. “Come on, I’m not paying you to chat up the customers.”

Kier nodded, moving to make his way back to the counter, before spinning back around to set the cookie on the table near Ashe’s drink. “That’s for you. Sorry again about your job.” He turned back around before Ashe could thank him, only crashing into a couple chairs in the maze of tables between her table and the counter.

Thog watched as Kier scuttled past him and into the kitchen, sighing like he was incredibly put-upon about the whole thing. He eyed Ashe for a moment, like it was _her_ fault that Kier hadn’t been doing his job, and then took a drink from his mug, turning to speak with Gregor again.

##

This time, when Ashe left some two hours later, with another irritatingly complicated drink for Markus and another dirty chai that Gregor had absolutely _refused_ to accept payment for, she only made it about halfway to the metro station before she noticed the note written on the side of her cup in the same handwriting as the day before.

It was a short note today, which only read, ‘ _nice shirt_ ,’ and Ashe laughed despite herself, because Markus _loathed_ this particular shirt.

He maintained that it was because he had _taste_ , but Ashe knew it was more likely that Markus was just couldn’t appreciate the genius of campy horror movies turned campy horror musicals like she could.

Philistine.

Still, it was a nice sentiment, even if it _did_ come from a possible money launderer.

##

Over the next three months, Ashe indulged in quite a lot of people watching, and in doing so, learned a fair number of things about the proprietor and baristas that kept Three Teaspoons up and running:

She found out, about a month in, on a Thursday, that La Muerte was the black 1069 Nova that was always parked out in one of the angle parking spots in front of the shop. That was also the day Ashe found out that Thog was much more athletic than she’d originally given him credit for.

It was actually quite impressive, if she was being honest.

One second, Gregor was shouting that someone was trying to jimmy the car door open, and then next, she was watching Thog vault over the front counter at a sprint, shouting obscenities.

Thog also seemed to be able to work some kind of probably illegal magic with baked goods, which had resulted in Ashe trying things like pecan bars and Kouign Amann and pumpkin filled empanadas and silently vowing to figure out which pastry themed gods Thog had sold his soul to for his, frankly unfair abilities.

Of course, Ashe couldn’t exactly ask him about it, because that was a little too close to fraternizing with the enemy for her comfort, but it wasn’t like Thog was around enough for her to ask anyway. Mostly, he stayed in the back unless he needed Kier or one of the customers asked for him, though Ashe usually saw him at least once every time she visited, which was more than Markus could say about the subject. 

She noticed, as well that Kier had a clumsy streak a mile wide, yes, and that it was usually the reason Ashe saw Thog a lot of the time. However, it seemed that he was _also_ a some kind of mechanical genius, too.

Sometimes, he would sit at one of the tables in the back, near where Ashe set up, coaxing previously crashed tablets and laptops back to life with minimal threatening, and once, she’d watched him disassemble and rebuild one of Thog’s high-end mixers in the span of about forty-five minutes.

And people _liked_ him, despite being loud and maybe a little _too_ enthusiastic, and it seemed that for every bitchy government worker that hated his guts, there were five more that stood at the to-go counter, talking to him about computers and machinery and coffee varieties.

it also came to her attention that Gregor had a semi-concerning ability to read a person’s mood before they had a chance to open their mouth, with a fairly small margin of error, which led to her witnessing some interesting conversations.

Once, Gregor had asked a frat-boy looking type what was wrong about five seconds after they’d walked up to the register, only to be immediately regaled with a semi-teary story about how they’d broken up with their fiancé the night before.

Another time, he’d broken up a fight between two randoms by chattering excitedly about the Smithsonian’s Natural History Museum exhibit on Dinosaurs.

It was impressive, actually, and he was incredibly good under pressure, based off the way he managed to handle people with more ego than sense without getting patronized at every turn.

It probably had something to do with how genuine he was, now that Ashe was thinking about it. And even though he’d told Ashe he was trying to figure out whether he wanted to be a lawyer or forensic investigator, she was a little worried that if Horovan ever caught wind of his existence, he’d be scooped up, locked down and turned into their most successful interrogator before the month was out.

And during her three month stint as a Three Teaspoons regular, Ashe herself had settled quite comfortably into the persona she’d built. Her ‘new job’ consisted mostly of paperwork that she could do remotely from her laptop at her back table, and when she _did_ have to go into the office, it was usually late in the day. She’d made friends with one of her co-workers early on, which explained, at least, why she kept buying drinks she wouldn’t normally touch with a ten-foot pole every afternoon before she left the café.

She also, more or less allowed Kier and Gregor to make whatever assumptions they liked about her. She never really confirmed or denied anything, which made it easier to lie about why she was really there, but also had the effect of leaving them both under the impression that Ashe was something akin to a nervous, fluttering bird, as opposed to what Markus usually described as ‘a bat to the side of the head.’

Still, cover was cover and if they thought that Ashe folded like a card table under even the slightest amount of pressure, then that was fine.

The notes on Ashe’s cup didn’t stop, either, despite the fact that after two weeks, she’d stopped arguing with Gregor about whether or not she’d be allowed to pay for them by looking him dead in the eye and putting four dollars in the tip jar sitting at the edge of the counter every time he told her it was on the house.

They weren’t much, usually just things like, ‘ _stay warm_ ,’ and ‘ _c_ _inn_ _amon buns tomorrow_ ,’ and ‘ _careful you don’t slip_ ,’ and that was all well and good and more or less harmless, until Ashe found that she was looking forward to them. 

Which, yeah, was kind of a problem because she was currently staking out the guy’s establishment to see whether or not he was _part of the fucking mob._

Still, it wasn’t _too_ bad, until the day Ashe read the phrase, ‘ _you look good in green_ ,’ off the side of her cup and spent the next ten minutes thanking the windchill because it gave her some kind of plausible explanation for why her cheeks were red.

And no, really, Ashe was _supposed_ to be made of stronger stuff than this. She wasn’t supposed to spend her day smiling stupidly over a few words written by a man that she’d literally never spoken to in her _life._ It was like someone had hijacked her existence and turned it into a bad romance novel and honestly, they needed to _stop_.

She would have actually talked to Markus about it, during their bi-weekly hangouts-turned-sleepovers, wherein they usually watched movies and sometimes ate ice cream out of the carton and more often than not spent a few hours bitching about work or gossiping or whatever, but Markus was dealing with his own debilitating crush that may or may not be tangentially linked to the mafia, and between the two of them, they’d decided that if they didn’t talk about it, there wouldn't be a problem.

And, okay, that was maybe not the _best_ way of coping, but it was the best they had, at least until they were assigned something else to occupy their time.

##

It was the week before New Years, almost four months after receiving this stupid assignment, several wasted hours of fretting over her not-quite-insignificant crush, and five slightly uncomfortable weekend get-togethers with Markus, where neither of them talked about anything for fear of things getting a little Too Real, before Ashe found out, much to her _great_ irritation, that the mafia-run money laundering outfit was not, in fact, Three Teaspoons, but the pizza parlour _next door._

Apparently, they were also running an absurdly profitable gambling ring in one of the back rooms, but that was entirely beside the point.

Ashe had wasted _months_ of her life watching the wrong fucking building.

It figured. 

The fact that she was being reimbursed for the coffee was about the only thing keeping Ashe from anonymously sending a card packed with glitter to Horovan in revenge for wasting her time.

Well, it was that, and the week of vacation they were getting apropos of nothing, but still it was going to be a long time before Ashe abandoned her glitter-based revenge fantasies, paid time off or not.

##

Arrests, money laundering, and secret gambling rings aside, there was no reason for Ashe to be trudging back to Three Teaspoons on that Friday outside of force of habit.

She’d gotten on the metro that morning with the intent of getting cat food, but between the crush of people with bullshit holiday themed ideas, her spacing out on the train and her brain switching to autopilot, Ashe found herself standing outside of Three Teaspoons, sighing tiredly and telling herself that she’d change her routine tomorrow.

Besides, after nearly four months of more than decent coffee, Ashe wasn’t quite ready to go back to the gritty swill her coffee maker spat out for her whenever she broke down and used it.

There was a reason she usually stuck to drinking the breakroom coffee at work.

The door was unlocked when she got there, which wasn’t altogether unusual, because they’d presumably been open for at least an hour.

What _was_ unusual was the fact that Gregor didn’t call a greeting to her from the register, and if anyone bothered asking later, that was the only reason she managed to shake herself out of her thoughts long enough to look around.

The café was empty, despite it being almost time for the first rush of the day to begin, most of the lights were off and there wasn’t any music playing over the speakers. Ashe thought that perhaps she should be a little more wary, all things considered, but nothing was making her instincts spike, and she’d been working for long enough that she trusted even the faintest hint that something was amiss.

“Lock the door behind you.” It wasn’t really an order, but it didn’t quite sound like a request, either, and Ashe was startled out of her admittedly half-assed investigations to see that Thog was standing at the counter where Gregor usually hovered, watching her curiously as she surveyed the place 

He wasn’t wearing his apron today.

That was the first thing that Ashe noticed, and maybe that and the slight scowl on his face and the way his hands were braced against the counter like he might vault over it again should have been threatening, but Ashe wasn’t particularly worried about it. He didn’t seem to have any glaringly obvious ulterior motives, and if Ashe could hold her own against Colvin, who didn’t pull his punches when they sparred at the gym, she could certainly hold off _Kelly_.

The deadbolt clicked loudly in the relative silence as it engaged.

“Taking a break from the baking business?” Ashe asked, turning back around and making her way to the counter as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

Which, she had, actually, but this was decidedly different from her usual coffee acquisition process.

“No.” Thog sighed and tilted his head at her, looking perhaps a little tired. “One of Moran’s networks just got declared obsolete and he’s got all hands on deck trying to transfer it over to a new system before everyone comes back from Christmas break. No sense in opening with a third of my employees missing.”

Ashe began unwinding her scarf from around her neck, glancing pointedly at the pastry case, which still had a few cookies and other various baked goods in it. “You taking a half day then?”

Thog waved a hand at the case. “He’s got a date later, might as well give him the day off since he’s too excited to function anyway. Those’ll keep over the weekend.”

Suddenly, the panicked text she’d gotten from Markus that morning made sense, even if at the time she hadn’t been entirely sure how to respond. She’d have to remember to text him back later with something encouraging.  

For now, though, Ashe was content to continue the conversation at hand. “And Gregor?”

Thog lifted a shoulder. “He wanted to go for a run, so I dropped him off in the mall. He’ll show up, eventually.” His frown deepened slightly, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend why anyone would spend their free time _running_ of all things, and Ashe couldn’t actually blame him for that.

Ashe cocked her head and decided to take the bait, because obviously, there was a reason Thog was waiting for her, and she might as well let him tell her. “And you?”

Thog smiled a little wolfishly at her and she nearly laughed because it was so fitting. “I figured you were going to show up out of habit, like the rest of the caffeine zombies, and now that I’m not being investigated by the FBI, I thought we could chat.”

“You knew?”

Of course, Ashe suspected he’d known the whole time, but no one seemed altogether concerned about it, which was strange, but not worth getting written up for harassing Horovan about after the first three times she’d brought it up to him and he’d told her not to worry about it.

His smile widened. “Oh yeah, the whole time.”

“And you didn’t say anything because…?”

Thog very nearly chuckled and Ashe had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. “Because that would have been suspicious, doncha think?” He straightened then, jerking his head in the general direction of the tables. “Go have a seat.”

He didn’t wait for Ashe to respond, and she watched for a moment as Thog turned, reaching under the counter for an oversized mug with one hand, turning on the nearest coffee machine with the other. She left him to it, because he seemed content to ignore her presence while he worked, and Ashe meandered back toward her table, pulling off her jacket before settling into her usual chair, with her back against the wall and a clear view of the café at large. It wasn’t a long wait, nor was it particularly uncomfortable, but Ashe still alternated between watching the window, the door, and Thog as he went about the business of coffee making, looking marginally less grumpy than every other time she'd seen him.

Eventually, Thog filled a pair of overlarge mugs with coffee and began making his way from behind the counter, pausing to grab a pair of plates from the pastry case as he went. He moved carefully through the maze of tables and chairs that that were scattered throughout the café, like he knew the way well enough that he could do it in his sleep.

“I knew you were a fed,” he announced, breaking the silence as he set the mugs down on the table, as if he was talking about the shitty weather or how the sky was blue. He pulled a nearby chair over to sit beside her, rather than in front of her, close enough to talk and sat down.

Ashe rolled her eyes, remembering Markus’s teasing from that first day, and accepted the mug Thog pushed toward her. “Was it the way I was dressed?”

Thog barked out a laugh and it was almost startling, seeing as how Ashe had only seen him smile once in all of three months. “No, not really. My dad’s retired Army.” He pushed one of the plates toward Ashe, passed her a fork and then started in on his own slice of of coffee cake. “When I was growing up, he’d sit just like you do when we went out. Back against the wall with a clear view of all the exits.”

“And what if I just don’t like being snuck up on, hmm?” Ashe asked, picking up her fork to take a bite of coffee cake. It was the caramel apple coffee cake today, and Ashe wondered if Thog had somehow noticed that it was her favourite.

“Well,” he paused and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “You look like a cop, too, but it’s subtle.”

Ashe snorted and reached for her coffee, which she realized, partway through taking a drink, was actually her usual dirty chai. It had vanilla in it, this time, though, which was new, but Ashe sort of liked the change.

“I’ve heard.”

Thog lifted his shoulders. “Cute cop, though.” He paused to take a drink from his own coffee and then eyed her for a moment. “To be honest, I thought they were gonna send one of those crochety Senior Agent types that shout at Gregor whenever he tries to get them to drink coffee that actually _tastes_ like something, instead of that burnt shit that keeps killing the plants.”

“You don’t have plants,” Ashe said, ignoring the compliment for the moment.

“Nah,” Thog agreed, looking unbothered by it. “I’m shit with plants. It comes from my dad’s side of the family. My abula can put a stick in the ground and it’ll be a tree in two weeks.” He very nearly smiled again, looking _exceedingly_ amused. “She’s _very_ disappointed in me for taking after my dad.”

Ashe laughed despite herself, ducking her head when she noticed Thog was watching her.

“The coffee grounds go home with Gregor,” he clarified after a moment, giving Ashe a chance to recover when he looked back toward the front when someone tried the door, only to find it locked. “He’s got so many fucking plants that he’s starting to take over the fire escape and hallway. I think Zalvy finally put their foot down about them a couple weeks ago or something because Gregor keeps trying to give me his succulents.”

“That’s nice of him.”

Thog lifted an eyebrow at her. “It’s _something_.”

Silence settled for a few long moments, not uncomfortably, though, and Ashe watched the stream of people walking past the front windows. A few stopped, apparently expecting the bakery to be open, before moving on with their journey.

Ashe finished her coffee cake and propped her chin in her hand. “Hey Thog?” She waited for her companion to acknowledge her, thinking that maybe next time she’d call him Kelly just to see what happened, before continuing. “Why were you expecting a Senior Agent?”

Thog shifted, stretching his legs under the table, absently shoving one of his sleeves farther up his arm. He leaned back in his chair, taking his coffee with him, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Well, _some_ one sent an anonymous tip into the FBI saying that the pizza place next door was _definitely_ being run by the Santiagos, right?

He paused long enough for Ashe to nod, because yes, that was what kicked all this off, took a drink of his coffee and then shrugged like it was blindingly obvious.

“So, it stands to reason that they had someone in Organized Crime comb through everything they’ve got on the Santiagos, as you do, and they would find out that my dad ran off to join the army and get married to my mom, and then they’d find out about me and my arrest record, which was _bull_ shit, by the way.” He tapped his foot for a moment, like it still bothered him ten years on and then sighed. “And since I’m back here, instead of in Arizona, they’d probably send someone to come check up on me to make sure my Uncle Vincent hadn’t sweet-talked me into joining the Family Business.”

Ashe laughed, both at the familiar phrasing and the fact that suddenly Horovan’s lax attitude vis a vis Ashe’s suspicions made quite a lot of sense. “And I guess _you’re_ the one that sent in the anonymous tip, like any good Samaritan would.”

“Of course,” he agreed, nodding decisively. “I didn’t want the _other_ family business putting my customers at risk.”

“And you didn’t think to tell anyone?” Ashe asked, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand, tapping on her cheek with her fingers.

Thog shrugged. “I prolly would’ve eventually, but then this no-nonsense kinda woman started coming in for a couple hours every morning to sit at the back table with her coffee or whatever. She was nice to my employees, and on Mondays, she’d steal the Sunday crossword off that table over there,” he pointed at the offending table and sent her a pointed look. “Very pretty, good taste in theatre. I was thinking about asking her out on a date when all this was said and done, so I figured…” He shrugged as if to say, ‘ _what can you do?_ ’

Ashe smiled brightly despite herself and gestured at the table between then and how Thog had been migrating closer as time passed. “And this isn’t a date?”

He shrugged, looking a little bit calculating about it. “Might be, but I also have a couple tickets to _Little Shop of Horrors_ next week, if you’re free.”

##

Eventually, Ashe left Three Teaspoons to go pick up cat food in an attempt to keep Charoth from throwing a fit and scratching up her furniture again, another dirty chai latte in hand to fortify her against the shitty late December weather.

Today, however, there was no note scrawled on the side of her cup.

Instead, there was a phone number.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt for this fic was, "but what if Thog owned a bakery and people were trying to kick his ass about it?” 
> 
> And then things got out of hand. 
> 
> Way out of hand.
> 
> Twice.
> 
> So take that as you will, I guess.


End file.
